by Olivia Drake
Sir Charles nodded. “I was positively overjoyed when the gatekeeper sent word of her arrival. I went down there myself to escort her inside.”
Meg gazed cautiously at Kate. “Sir Charles asked me to wait here. He said he wished to surprise you.”
Kate was more than surprised. She was shocked, aghast, and afraid. The first order of business was to spirit Meg away before she said anything damning, such as asking after Gabriel.
If she hadn’t done so already.
Kate took hold of her sister’s arm. In a severe tone, she said, “Come along to my chamber, please. You and I have matters to discuss.”
Meg balked. “You mustn’t send me home. Sir Charles has already given me permission to stay for the ball tonight.”
Crossing his arms over his apple-green coat, the baron smiled indulgently. “Indeed I did. Such a lovely girl as you will be an unparalleled success with the ton."
Meg lifted eager blue eyes to him. “Do you truly think so?”
“I know so. You’ll dance with every man present. You’ll have a veritable entourage of admirers.”
His high-handedness infuriated Kate, and she fought to keep her voice even. “I’m afraid I must disagree. My sister is far too young to attend this party.”
“But it’s my seventeenth birthday today,” Meg said plaintively. “Have you forgotten?”
Amid all the intrigue, Kate had forgotten. She felt a treacherous softening at her sister’s woebegone expression, the tearful eyes and the jutting lower lip. Poor Meg. How left out she must have felt, having no family there to celebrate with her.
Yet how dangerous a dilemma her rebelliousness had created.
“If you’ll excuse us, Sir Charles,” Kate said, “I really must speak to my sister alone.”
“As you wish,” he said, bowing to them. “But let me add, there’s a storm brewing to the west. I shouldn’t like to see a lady set out in a coach in such uncertain weather.”
Shivering, Meg sent Kate an appealing look. “You know how afraid I am of lightning and thunder. Won’t you please let me stay?”
The added impetus of a rainstorm pushed Kate into a corner. What other choice did she have? None, she thought bleakly. None at all. “All right, then,” she forced out. “But you must promise to behave yourself.”
“I will. You’re the best sister in the world." Her eyes shining, Meg threw her free arm around Kate, drawing her against Jabbar, who babbled happily and patted Kate on the shoulder.
A tangle of emotion caught at her breast. Tenderness, for she had missed her sister’s companionship and cheerful chatter. Anxiety, for when Kate returned here tonight to search for the statue, she would have to leave Meg with Lady Stokeford. And fear, for Meg didn’t know the terrible risk she had taken by coming here.
She had to be told, Kate knew. It was the only way Kate could protect her sister. Then Meg would realize that the man standing with them, smiling so affably, had murdered their father.
“My very first ball,” Meg sang, pirouetting in front of the mirror while admiring her gown of royal-blue sarcenet. “I can scarcely believe it’s about to begin.”
“You look like a princess,” Lady Stokeford said. “Both of you do.”
The dowager’s fond gaze encompassed Kate, who sat on a stool in her ladyship’s dressing room while Betty tamed her unruly curls into a presentable style. Usually, Kate envied Meg her smooth black hair, which was caught up in an elegant chignon that showed off her swanlike neck. At the same time, she was proud of Meg’s beauty. But tonight, she wished fervently that her sister looked like a hag.
“Is this bodice too high?” Meg asked, tugging at it. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m just out of the schoolroom.”
“They should know,” Kate said tartly. “After all, it’s the truth.”
High color tinted Meg’s fair face. But she also had a determined gaiety of manner. “Tra-la, tra-la. I’ll look as fine as these London ladies.”
“You’ll look finer, for none of them are as young and beautiful as you are,” Lady Stokeford said sagely. “And beware, their claws will be out tonight.”
“As for the gentlemen,” Kate said, thinking of the Lucifer League, “you must take care not to let any one of them lure you from the ballroom.”
“Gentlemen of the ton,” Meg said, pressing her hand to her bosom. “At the mere thought, my heart is beating so fast I vow I may swoon.”
Kate exchanged a worried glance with Lady Stokeford. The dowager had received a frantic message from the other Rosebuds, alerting her to Meg’s disappearance. She’d sent a prompt reply informing Lady Faversham and Lady Enid of Meg’s safe arrival and asking them to wait at Fairfield Park, for they would all be journeying there on the morrow.
“These men are gamblers and rakes,” the dowager said. “They are not to be trifled with.”
“They’re only men,” Meg said with a careless wave of her fan. “I’m not afraid of any of them. Not even Sir Charles.”
Kate had told her sister an abbreviated version of the truth, that Gabriel was posing as a footman in an attempt to gather proof to apprehend Sir Charles. Meg had been shocked and disbelieving, unwilling to accept that such an elegant aristocrat could be a thief and a murderer. She’d been fretful and sullen for a while, and now her breezy manner troubled Kate.
Conscious of Betty’s listening ears, she rose from the stool and dismissed the maid. Then she took Meg by the hands, fiercely wishing that her headstrong sister had not been so foolish as to enter this viper’s nest. “Remember what I told you, Meg. Sir Charles might appear to be a fine gentleman, but he is responsible for Papa’s death.”
Her lips pursed, Meg drew her hands free. “You’ve already said so, but ... surely I can be pleasant to him. He’s shown me nothing but courtesy.”
“Men are often not what they seem to be,” Lady Stokeford said, coming to stand beside them. With her snowy hair and the pale blue silk that matched her eyes, she looked like a wise old angel. “You must be especially cautious of their flattery and compliments.”
“And if you don’t behave as you’re told, you’ll be banished here with Jabbar,” Kate said sternly. “Is that understood?”
A faintly rebellious spark shone in Meg’s blue eyes. But to Kate’s relief, her sister looked away and nodded.
“Excellent,” Lady Stokeford said, linking arms with both of them, her finely wrinkled face blooming with vivacity. “Now, shall we all go down and join the party?”
Collecting empty champagne glasses in the ballroom, Gabe kept his back turned to the throng of guests.
He had been assigned to clean-up duties, much to his annoyance. It was all due to his bogus confession to Agnes Swindon. To put an end to her lustfulness once and for all, he’d told her bluntly that he preferred boys.
He’d rather enjoyed her shriek of disgust. As for the chores she’d heaped on him in retaliation, he had no intention of completing them all. Only this one, because he needed to assure himself that Kate was safely ensconced at the party while he did his skulking.
Where the devil was she?
Crouching to wipe a puddle of spilled champagne from the parquet floor, he imagined he caught a whiff of her flowery scent. His blood heated, but he clamped his teeth and finished his task. Then he sensed movement beside him. Jerking his head around, he saw dainty slippers, a sea-green gown, and a shapely feminine form that caused an instantaneous, combustible reaction in his body.
Kate frowned down at him. “Gabriel. I must speak to you.”
He muttered, “It isn’t safe and well you know it.”
“This is important. Meg is here.”
If she’d drawn a pistol, he couldn’t have been more shocked. He sprang to his feet, motioning her to step into an alcove behind a grouping of leafy ferns. “The devil you say—”
“It’s true. She ran away from Stokeford Abbey. She’s over there in the doorway with your grandmother.”
Biting off a curse, he slid a glance over the fa
ncy, gilded ballroom with its tall pillars and glittering chandeliers. The orchestra was tuning its instruments, and the guests were gathering in the center in preparation for the dancing, but thankfully, the bushy foliage half-hid him and Kate. To his anger and alarm, he spied an animated, dark-haired Meg by the doorway, already surrounded by men.
He snapped his attention back to Kate. “Does she know about Damson?”
Her small white teeth sinking into her lower lip, she nodded. “I had to warn her. Though I said little about our plan. I let her think we were here only to spy on Sir Charles.”
“Blast it all.” Gabe started to run his fingers through his hair, remembered the cursed wig, and made a fist instead. “Tonight is my last chance to find the statue. If she gets in the way, it could be a disaster.”
“She won’t.” Kate’s beautiful green eyes studied him. “Did Ashraf get the keys made?”
“They’re in my pocket.”
“When are you going upstairs?”
Wheeling around, he pretended to busy himself with the tray of glassware. “Later,” he lied. “After the dancing is well under way. In fact, I don’t think I can get away until suppertime.”
“But that’s midnight,” she exclaimed.
“Yes. I’ve a lot of duties tonight.” He would head upstairs right after he left this tray in a convenient closet. But Kate didn’t need to know that. She’d only interfere and endanger herself. And distract him.
As she was distracting him now.
She moved closer. So close that her body brushed against his with spectacular results. “I want to go with you.”
“No,” he muttered. “Now get away from me. Before someone sees us together.”
“No one can see us behind all this foliage.” She touched his sleeve, stroking him in a beguiling dance. “Please, Gabriel, take me along.”
“It isn’t safe. Just watch over your sister.”
“Lady Stokeford will do so.” Her fingers slipped in between his arm and his coat, rubbing up and down his side. “You can’t go without me. I want to be with you.”
Her words were spark to his tinder. He burned to toss her over his shoulder, carry her off to the nearest bed, and show her in no uncertain terms who was in charge. Damn the minx for using her seductive powers on him.
“Miss Talisford. How lovely you look this evening.”
Bent over the tray, Gabe froze. That deep, sardonic male voice sounded naggingly familiar...
“Lord Faversham,” Kate said warmly. “What a pleasure to see you.”
Gabe went rigid. Brand Villiers. He’d seen the scoundrel’s name on the guest list, but until now, hadn’t encountered him.
Kate moved away, and with any luck, Brand would think she’d just set down an empty glass. That is, unless Gabe swung around as he hungered to do, and warned Brand that Kate was off limits.
Only the memory of the statue stopped him. Tonight was his last chance to have revenge on Damson. Playing the decorous servant, Gabe stiffly picked up his tray of glasses and walked away.
“That footman looks familiar,” Lord Faversham said musingly. His gray eyes narrowed, he stared after Gabriel, who moved through the crowd of guests as if he belonged among them.
Kate’s heart gave a jolt. It wasn’t inconceivable that the earl might see through Gabriel’s disguise. According to Lady Stokeford, Brandon Villiers had grown up knowing the Kenyons, though he had been of an age with Gabriel’s brother Michael. “Do you mean Whitcombe?” she said carelessly. “He serves at the Abbey, so perhaps you’ve seen him there.”
He raised a dark brow. “Perhaps.”
Kate tried to gauge his reaction. Did he believe her? She couldn’t be certain. The best thing to do was to change the subject. “Are you enjoying the party, my lord?”
A faint smile touched his scarred mouth. “What’s more the question, are you?”
His knowing gaze dropped to her hand. In instinctive alarm, she made a move to hide her closed fingers behind her back.
The earl’s hand flashed out, snaring her wrist. She stiffened, trying to draw back. But with a calm, relentless touch, he opened her gloved fingers and plucked out an object. He held it up to the candlelight, turning the slender bit of metal in his long fingers.
“A key,” he said with sham surprise. “Fancy that.”
“I...” Though her heart was pounding, she affected a laugh. “I forgot I was carrying the key to my chamber. How silly of me.”
She reached out, but he closed his fingers, locking the key inside his big palm. Short of wrestling him, she couldn’t get at it.
“I saw you take this out of Whitcombe’s pocket.” His charcoal-gray eyes, rife with cynical amusement, glinted at her. “Is the proper Miss Talisford making assignations with the help?”
So that was it. He thought her a strumpet. She ought to go along with the handy explanation, for she desperately needed that key. Yet her pride rebelled at being classified as having the morals of the ton.
Meeting his stare, she coolly extended her hand. “I’ll thank you to give that back to me.”
He didn’t move. His saturnine face hinted at secrets that should make any decent woman run away screaming. But Kate held her ground. She couldn’t depend on Gabriel to find the statue, especially as he intended to delay until midnight. If he waited too long, the male guests might go up to the study.
Men like Lord Faversham.
After a moment, much to her surprise, he gently placed the key in her palm. Closing her fingers around it, he brought her fist up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. Then he made a mocking bow. “May I offer you one piece of advice, Miss Talisford?”
She stood in a dignified pose, cloaking her jubilation at having the key, though quickly slipping it inside her glove. “Go ahead. But don’t expect me to follow it.”
Rather than laugh, he gave her an intense, sober look. “My advice is that you and your sister depart from here at once. And never return.”
A Narrow Escape
Meg felt the music shimmer through her veins, sparkling inside her like the champagne she’d sipped for the first time in her seventeen years.
Hundreds of twinkling candles veiled the ballroom in a golden sheen of light. It didn’t matter that old Uncle Nathaniel had insisted on partnering her for the first dance. It didn’t matter because the other noblemen were watching her with admiring glances. Graceful as a swan, she performed the complicated steps of the country dance, dipping and swaying to the airy tune played by the musicians, her slippers floating over the shiny parquet floor. Her heart soared with the certainty that she’d found her rightful place in the world, here in the fellowship of the ton.
When she’d walked into the ballroom, Sir Charles had taken her by the hand and announced the celebration of her birthday to the entire company. The adjacent supper room held a three-tiered cake iced with pink roses in her honor. The gentlemen had thronged around her, handsome, worldly aristocrats vying for a scrap of her attention. She, Margaret Anne Talisford, a rustic nobody who had grown up in a simple cottage!
At the head of the line, Kate danced with Sir Charles. For a moment, Meg’s good humor soured, and she wanted to stick out her tongue at her sister. It wasn’t fair that Kate, who harbored such a mean opinion of Sir Charles, had been granted the honor of the first dance with him. Kate was always suspicious of people, always overly protective, always certain she knew best.
But Meg knew that if she displayed one smidgen of rebellion, her stern sister would send her straight back to Lady Stokeford’s chamber, there to sit alone while everyone else had fun. Meg would let nothing mar the perfection of this marvelous evening.
With determined vivacity, she turned her gaze to Kate’s partner. Fair-haired and lordly, Sir Charles Damson was the epitome of a London gentleman in his pale blue coat and matching pantaloons. His elegant cravat cascaded like a waterfall from his throat. Meg thought he looked as dashing and intense as a poet, as polished and proficient as a courtier.
; He simply couldn’t be a thief and a murderer. His manner was too well-bred, his behavior too refined. Blue-blooded aristocrats didn’t commit crimes, especially not against her dear papa.
Papa. Sometimes Meg feared she’d forgotten his face, and she’d strain to recall him by bits and pieces. The kindly blue eyes magnified by his spectacles. His scent of pipe smoke and dusty artifacts. The threadbare cuffs of his favorite brown coat.
Tears threatened, but Meg blinked them away. She couldn’t imagine anyone but a vicious, horrid criminal killing her papa. Kate had made a dreadful mistake, that was all. After her sister had watched Sir Charles for a while, she would realize her error of judgment.
As the dance drew to a close, Uncle Nathaniel bowed to Meg. “I’ll take you back to Lucy now,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “No doubt you’ll be wanting to dance with the young bucks, instead of a creaky old gent like me.”
“Yes...no!” Meg exclaimed, afraid she’d hurt his feelings. “I enjoyed our dance very much!”
Impulsively, she hugged him, liking his scent of shaving soap. Uncle Nathaniel hadn’t been around much in her childhood, only popping in for a visit every few years. But he was a merry gentleman and rather handsome with his thick white hair and courtly, old-fashioned manners.
Chuckling, he released her. “You make me wish for my youth again. The days when the prettiest girl was always mine.”
As they strolled through the throng, Meg realized he was smiling rather pensively at Lady Stokeford, who stood in conversation with a group of ladies. An amazing thought took root in Meg. Was her great-uncle in love with the dowager marchioness of Stokeford? Would their pretend betrothal become truth?
The notion filled her with delight, for she liked Lady Stokeford, who had welcomed her with the warmth of a grandmother. It was due to her ladyship’s intervention that Meg had so many pretty dresses to wear, including this midnight-blue sarcenet that made her feel like a true lady of fashion.
A tall man with a headful of russet curls stepped into her path, flashing his large white teeth in a smile. “Hark! I see an angel standing before me.”
